University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
BARBARA  DAVIS  MCKNIGHT 


W.  B.  TYLER,  S.  F. 


POEMS 


JACOB    P-RICE, 


SAN  LEANDEO,  CAL. 


1889. 


/ 


I  encountered  much  difficulty  in  finding  a  sufficient  excuse 
for  printing  this  little  volume  of  alleged  poems. 

The  fact  that  the  edition  is  limited  to  a  few  dozen  copies,  in 
tended  to  be  given  to  personal  friends  only,  will,  it  is  hoped,  be 
regarded  as  an  extenuating  circumstance  that  will  in  some  degree 
modify  the  justifiable  animosity  of  those  upon  whom  a  copy  may 
be  inflicted. 

I  will  add  in  further  mitigation  of  the  offence  that  most  of 
the  poems  herein  were  written  years  ago  (when  I  was  younger) 
and  were  published  in  various  journals  accompanied,  generally, 
by  commendatory  notices  written  by  the  editors.  Many  of  them 
were  widely  copied. 

Several  elocutionists,  also,  thought  some  of  them  worthy  of 
presentation  to  th  eir  audiences. 

Notwithstanding  these  things  I  did  not  go  into  the  poetry 
business,  but  kept  working  steadily  on  at  a  respectable  occupa 
tion,  with  the  happy  result  of  entirely  recovering  from  the  mental 
disorder  that  manifested  itself  in  the  production  of  this  volume. 

THE  AUTHOR, 


INDEX. 


The  Locomotive     , 5 

The  End , , 6-7 

The   Jailor's   Tale   8-9 

How  Could  She 10-11 

An  Incident  of  Frontier  Life 12-13-14 

Photography 15 

Song  of  Steam 16-17 

Judge  Lynch 18-19-20-21 

Kemarks  on  Spring 22 

The  Old  Horse's  Protest 23-24 

The  Jilted  Maiden 25 

Dwight's  Little  Joke 26-27 

Doomed , . 28-29 

Save  the  Women 30-31 

Rain  in  California 32 

The  Virtuous  Barkeeper t 33 

Our  Ninety-Ninth  Anniversary 34-35-36 

Local  Option  Jingles 37 

Fire 38-39 

Changed  Her  Mind 40 

Sabbath  in  the  Country 41 

To  the  Old  Guard 42-43 

To  Stephen  and  Emily 44 

Soarings 45 


UABK!  a  wild  advancing  shriek  upon  the  midnight  air, 

To  which  the  hills  reply  again  with  echoes  reaching  far; 
A  mighty  roar  that  awes  our  souls  and  fills  our  hearts  with  dread, 
As  when  the  awful  earthquake  rushes  by  with  giant  tread. 

The  monster  comes;  lo,  demon-like  a  single  eye  fierce  gleams 
Within  its  iron  forehead  set,  from  which  the  strong  light  streams 
Into  the  cow'ring  darkness,  that  seems  to  shrink  away, 
As  if  in  dread  of  its  wild  glare,  like  night  before  the  day. 

Deep  in  its  savage  jaws  there  glows  a  fierce  devouring  fire 
That  yields  a  strength  to  those  grim  arms  that  naught  can  ever  tire, 
While  from  its  belching  crest  there  rolls  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  flame 
That  backward  streams  along  the  path  from  whence  the  dragon  came. 

On,  on  with  wild  and  breathless  speed  along  the  trembling  ground 
With  flashing  wheels  and  rapid  breath  into  the  night  profound 
It  plunges,  and  with  lessened  roar  is  lost  amid  the  gloom 
Of  distant  hills;  the  night  once  more  is  silent  as  the  tomb. 


END, 


«  .  p  AST  twelve  o'clock?     Oh,  no,  barkeep 

Can't  be  that  I've  lain  here  asleep 
On  this  settee  since  noon  to-day. 
Dont!     I'll  get  up.     Drunk,  did  you  say? 
Tis  not  the  first  time.     I  say,  Joe 
Give  me  a  drop  before  I  go. 

Let's  see  my  coin?     O,  Joe  just  think 
What  I  have  given  you  for  drink  — 
Wealth  —  strength  —  children,  wife, 
All  —  all  that  man  holds  dear  in  life; 
And  must  I  beg  of  you  in  vain 
One  drop  to  ease  my  throbbing  brain? 

Don't  push  me  that  way;  don't  now,  Joe, 

Hands  off  I  say!     Before  I  go 

I  must  have  rum.     For  God's  sake  man, 

Spare  me  this  torture  if  you  can; 

This  horrid  thirst,  this  raging  hell 

Within,  that  rum  alone  can  quell. 

There,  see,  I've  fallen!     (oh,  so  low) 
You  didn't  strike  me,  did  you,  Joe? 
You  did!     Well,  then  you  were  in  fun, 
Leave,  or  I'll  get  another  one? 
Another  blow?    Joe!  Joe!  beware  — 
What  —  what  —  is  that  —  just  over  there! 

Great  God  Almighty  !     Let  me  go  ! 
Help!     keep  him  off!     O  save  me,  Joe! 
Oh,  spare  —  he's  gone  —  why  Joe,  I  swear 
'Tis  you!  there's  snakes  coiled  in  your  hair 
And  in  your  bosom  there  is  one. 
They're  in  mine  too!  !     Great  God!  I'm  gone!' 
***** 


Dead  on  the  sidewalk!     Lo,  the  end 
Of  him  who  was  a  genial  friend, 
A  husband  fond,  a  father  kind, 
A  man  of  culture,  learned,  refined; 
A  gentleman — truehearted,  brave. 
Alas!  alas!  a  drunkard's  grave. 


W/ELL,  'tis  rather  a  gloomy  place,  I  reckon  you're  'bout  right; 
Damp  stone  walls  and  iron  doors  and  none  too  much  of  light 
Don't  make  it  very  cheerful  like,  but  then  a  jail,  you  know, 
Must  be  a  jail,  and  not  a  place  where  men  from  choice  will  go. 

Le's  see,  you  asked  for  Chamberlin,  a  friend  of  yours  may  be  ? 

jes  So — he  didn't  mean  no  harm — sort  of  a  drunken  spree. 

In  number  five?     A  murderer — the  worst  man  we've  had  here 

Since  I've  been  turnkey — killed  his  wife — slashed  her  from  ear  to  ear. 

Makes  you  shudder?     Well,  'twas  awful;  but,  sir,  we  have  got 
All  kinds  of  men,  from  the  cut-throat  down  to  the  common  sot 
Within  these  walls.     That  sad  eyed  chap?     An  Austrian  I  believe; 
His  crime?    Ah — well — he  saw,  'tis  said,  Bill  Hogan  kill  McCleave. 

You  recollect  the  scrape,  I  guess,  'twas  some  six  months  ago; 
It  happened   down  by  Green's  Exchange;  seems  Bill  struck  Me.  a  blow 
Upon  the  head  with  a  slung-shot  that  laid  him  cold  's  a  wedge. 
Don't  know  just  what  the  trouble  was — believe  'twas  some  old  grudge. 

Well,  this  chap  had  the  cussed  luck  to  see  the  whole  affray, 

And  so  they've  held  him  all  this  time.     I  shan't  forget  the  day 

They  brought  him  here,  he  looked  so  strange,  so  frightened  like  and  wild, 

And  kept  a  talkin  all  the  time  about  his  wife  and  child. 

He'd  just  come  off  the  ship,  it  seems—  been  here  a  day  or  two, 
And  twenty  words,  or  so,  was  all  the  English  that  he  knew, 
Which  made  it  bad  for  him;  you  see  he  couldn't  understand 
Why  he  was  kept  in  prison  in  this  "  free  and  equal"  land. 


Wust  of  it  was  though  when  they  came — I  mean  his  boy  and  wife; 
Lord!  how  they  took  on — kissed  and  cried — you  never  in  your  life 
Saw  such  a  scene.     And,  sir,  I  swear,  if  you'd  been  made  of  stone, 
You  would  have  choked  up  when  you  saw  them  two  go  forth  alone. 

In  here?      Not  much.     Lord  bless  your  soul,  he  didn't  lay  in  jail; 
Waived  an  examination  and  managed  to  give  straw  bail, 
Then  slid  for  South  Ameriky.     Of  course  they  know  he's  gone 
As  a  plain  fact;  can't  legally, until  his  case  comes  on. 

You've  got  me  now — that's  hard  to  tell — I'm  damned  sir  if  I  know 
Just  when  the  poor  cuss  will  get  out,  them  things  drag  on  so  slow. 
They  'lowed  to  try  Bill  the  last  term,  you  should  have  seen  'em  then; 
Thought  they'd  go  crazy  when  they  found  he'd  soon  be  out  again. 

She  came  at  sunrise  on  the  day  they  thought  they'd  call  Bill's  case, 
And  brought  her  little  boy  and  babe;  and  such  a  happy  face 
As  hers,  I  never  saw  before.     I  didn't?     Well,  that's  queer! 
A  gal,  born  in  the  hospital  soon  after  he  came  here. 

All  day  they  waited  cheerfully,  their  hopes  were  bright  and  firm; 
At  last  the  word  came — cuss  such  word!  "  Put  over  for  the  term" 
I — I — God,  sir!     I  never  saw  despair  so  cold  and  white 
As  that  in  that  poor  creature's  face  as  she  passed  out  that  night. 


10 


H0W  60ULD 


7JHEY  were  in  the  quiet  parlor, 
^In  the  parlor  alone, 
Seated  on  a  silken  sofa, 

And  his  arm  was  'round  her  thrown, 
Softly  o'er  them  fell  the  rays 

Of  the  darkened  chandelier, 
Making  that  delicious  gloom 

Which  to  lovers  is  so  dear. 


He  wore  a  lovely  brown  mustache, 

His  hand,  so  soft  and  white, 
Was  burdened  with  a  gleaming  ring, 

That  sparkled  in  the  light. 
His  dress  was  faultless;  he,  in  fact, 

Looked  fine  as  a  new  fiddle. 
But  oh,  his  hair! — alas!  alas! 

'Twas  parted  in  the  middle. 

And  she  looked  oh,  so  wondrous  fair, 

So  yielding,  yet  so  coy, 
As  she  reclined  half  in  his  arms, 

That  he  was  filled  with  joy. 
He  boldly  clasped  her  willing  hand 

And  gently  squeezed  her  waist, 
Then  sighed  as  if  he  thought  he'd  got 

Of  heaven  a  foretaste. 

And  as  he  pressed  her  rosy  palm 

His  soul  was  steeped  in  bliss; 
"  Wath  anything,"  he  panted,  "  e'er 

Tho  thoft— tho  thoft  ath  thith  ?" 
And  then  she  breathed  a  gentle  sigh 

And  said  "  had  I  the  will 
I  think  that  I  could  place  your  hand 

On  something  softer  still." 


11 


His  breath  came  quick,  his  glances  roved 

From  cheek  to  swelling  bust, 
"  Take,  oh,  take  my  hand  "  he  said; 

"  I  plathe  it  in  your  trutht; 
"  Thweet  girl,  do  with  it  what  you  will." 

Then  not  a  word  she  said 
But  took  the  little  paw  and  laid 

It  gently  on—  -Ms  head. 


12 


AN  INCIDENT  ep  RRSNTIER 


^O  Willow  Springs  ?   about  ten  miles — you  can't  get  there  to-night, 

The  trail  is  hardly  plainenough  to  follow  by  daylight; 
You  had  better  stop  with  us — we'd  be  pleased  to  have  you  stay, 
For  travelers  from  the  settlement  don't  often  pass  this  way. 

The  boy  will  take  your  horse,  sir — James,  put  him  in  the  shed 
By  the  side  of  your  brown  pony,  and  see  that  he's  well  fed; 
If  you'll  please  walk  into  the  house,  my  wife  will  try,  I'm  sure, 
To  provide  you  with  some  supper,  if  our  fare  you  can  endure. 

Dear  little  wife,  this  gentleman  will  stay  with  us  to-night — 
Take  a  seat,  sir,  by  the  fire — for  I  thought  it  hardly  right 
To  let  him  pass,  the  trail  's  so  blind — come  here  my  little  pet 
And  see  your  papa — four,  last  May;  she  hardly  speaks  plain  yet. 

Yes,  sir,  one  more;  a  son,  aged  twelve — he  led  your  horse  away  — 

Who  thinks  his  little  sister  is  not  made  of  common  clay; 

Who  treats  his  gentle  mother  as  courtier  treats  a  queen; 

Who  obeys  his  father's  lightest  wish — such  is  the  boy  you've  seen. 

Since  we  came  here  ?     Five  years  last  June — how  swift  time  flies  away, 
When  health,  and  love,  and  happiness  abide  with  us  each  day. 
Yet  once,  o'er  us,  a  cloud  of  woe,  spread  its  black  wings  in  wrath, 
Our  hearts,  our  joy,  our  lives  all  seemed  directly  in  its  path. 

There  was  a  vicious  redskin — they  called  him  Whisky  Bill- 
Who  roamed  about  these  prairies;  at  times  he  used  to  fill 
His  carcass  with  vile  whiskey,  then  to  our  cabin  come, 
And  frighten  wife  and  little  ones,  if  I  was  not  at  home. 

One  hazy  day,  last  autumn,  while  at  work  amid  the  grain, 

I  heard  a  startling  yell!     Whiskey  Bill  had  come  again, 

And  with  fierce,  menacing  gestures  bade  my  frightened  little  wife, 

Give  him  food  and  drink,  "much  plenty",  or  he  would  take  her  life. 


13 


My  face  grew  white  with  passion,  and  ere  he  was  aware, 

I  had  cleared  the  fence  that  hid  me,  and  in  the  matted  hair 

Of  the  painted,  maddened  wretch,  I  made  my  left  hand  fast; 

My  right  clutched  deep  his  tawny  throat — he  nearly  breathed  his  last. 

But  a  shudder  thrilled  my  breast,  when,  as  he  lay  on  the  ground, 
He  turned  those  black,  malignant  eyes  on  me  with  hate  profound; 
And  a  devilish  glare  of  murder  shone  in  his  bloodshot  gaze, 
As  he  rode  away  in  silence— it  haunted  me  for  days. 

A  week  or  more  had  passed  away — our  hearts  had  lighter  grown — 
We  hoped  the  swarthy  fiend  had  fled.     Ah!  had  we  then  but  known 
That  scarce  a  hundred  yards  away,  concealed  in  a  ravine, 
He  watched  to  strike  the  stealthy  blow,  our  anguish  had  not  been. 

Twas  an  Indian  summer  morn;  the  red  and  smoky  sun 

Shed  a  warm,  delicious  glow,  while  we  watched  our  little  one 

Straying,  barefoot  from  the  door  with  her  bonnet  in  her  hand, 

Her  yellow  hair  swayed  by  the  breeze  with  which  her  cheek  was  fanned 

Our  boy  had  gone  before  the  sun  had  risen  o'er  the  hill 
That  morn,  to  seek  the  antelopes,  and  on  them  try  his  skill — 
For  he  had  shown,  though  but  a  lad,  a  nerve  as  firm  as  steel, 
And  oft  his  trusty  rifle's  spoil  enriched  our  evening  meal. 

My  wife  gazed  long,  with  loving  eyes,  upon  the  straying  child, 
And  bade  her  go  not  far  away;  she  turned  and  sweetly  smiled, 
Though  with  an  arch  and  saucy  look,  which  said  "I  won't  obey; 
You'll  have  to  catch  me  or  I  shall  not  mind  a  word  you  say." 


Like  some  black  bird  of  prey  that  with  fierce  and  sudden  wing, 
Swoops  down  upon  a  shrinking  dove—  a  hideous  painted  thing 
Swept  down  and  seized  our  treasure;  seized  her  floating,  yellow  hair; 
Yelled  wildly  to  his  mustang;  was  gone — we  knew  not  where. 

"God  have  mercy!"  cried  my  wife — I  stopped  to  hear  no  more 
But  sped  madly,  madly  forward  as  man  ne'er  sped  before, 
And  as  I  ran  I  cursed  and  screamed  in  hopeless,  wild  despair, 
At  my  toilsome,  helpless,  failing  speed — at  last  I  tried  a  prayer. 


14 


What  do  I  see?     The  horseman  stops!     What  can  his  movements  mean  ? 
Why  tries  he  thus  to  climb  the  bank  that  hems  in  the  ravine  ? 
Ah!  God  be  praised!  my  noble  boy  with  his  poised  rifle  stands 
Firm  as  a  rock,  upon  the  trail,  and  shouts  forth  his  commands. 

"Let  my  little  sister  go!' — the  savage  feigned  to  yield — 
A  moment  more  and  he  had  turned  and  held  her  as  a  shield, 
And  with  a  loud,  derisive  shout  he  sought  to  scale  the  bank  — 
In  vain; — that  deadly  rifle  rang;  his  horse  beneath  him  sank. 

With  murder  gleaming  from  his  eyes  he  leaped  toward  my  son, 
While  I,  ~iflew  toward  the  spot;  each  of  us  seized  the  gun; 
A  second  paused — with  one  fierce  wrench  I  tore  it  from  his  hands, 
Swung  it  aloft  and — Whisky  Bill  lay  senseless  on  the  sands. 

Against  my  bursting  heart  my  girl,  with  trembling  arms  I  pressed, 
And  wept  just  like  a  little  child.    I  need  not  tell  the  rest. 
What's  that  you  say  ?     You'd  like  to  know  the  fate  of  Whisky  Bill  ? 
I  said  I  stretched  him  on  the  sands — I  guess   he   lies  there  still. 


15 


PH@T0GRAPHY. 


spake  the  words:  "  Let  there  be  light!  " 
The  glorious  flood  poured  into  space, 
And  drove  the  black  chaotic  night 

Swift  from  our  planet's  smiling  face. 

Vast  continents  in  living  green 

Were  straightway  dressed;  the  convex  sea 
In  glorious  blue  lay  calm  between — 

Fit  emblem  of  His  Majesty. 

Ten  thousand  years  a  sea  of  light 

Had  bathed  the  world,  e'er  it  was  known 

That  fleeting  shadows  by  its  might, 
Might  be  forever  made  our  own. 


16 


0F 


gLANG!  cling!  clang!  cling! 

Forges  glow  and  anvils  ring; 
Pond'rous  wheels  with  thund'rous  sound 
And  fearful  speed  swing  madly  round, 
And  crash  and  roar  and  hiss  and  scream 
Swell  my  wild  song  —  the  song  of  steam. 

My  fierce  hot  breath  puts  forth  its  strength 
In  grimy,  iron  lungs;  at  length 
The  clanking  engine  moves  with  life; 
Long  shafts  respond.     The  busy  strife 
Shakes  the  vast  factory;  wall  and  beam 
Throb  with  my  might,  the  might  of  steam. 

My  arm  impels  the  roaring  blast 

Into  the  glowing  furnace;  fast 

The  molten  iron,  sparkling  white 

With  heat,  leaps  forth  like  liquid  light 

Into  the  smoking  sand;  fit  birth 

For  forms  of  beauty,  strength  and  worth. 

How  swift  yon  crowded  steamer  glides 
Mid  thronging  ships.  Her  quivering  sides 
Spurn  the  dark  wave.     In  seeming  wrath 
She  tramples  white  a  snowy  path 
Of  undulating  foam;  'tis  steam 
Thrills  her  with  life  from  keel  to  beam. 

Long  trains  by  my  strong  arm  are  hurled 
From  State  to  State  across  the  world 
With  speed  of  light.     See  how  they  glide 
Along  the  mountains'  dizzy  side 
And  through  green  valleys;  praries  vast 
Scarce  greet  the  gaze  ere  they  are  past. 


17 


And  yet  my  crowning  work  remains; 
For,  swifter  far  than  whirling  trains, 
The  flying  ship  shall  cleave  the  storm. 
Already  its  prophetic  form 
Has  soared  aloft;  the  day  draws  nigh 
When  man's  highway  shall  be  the  sky. 

Behold,  then,  puny  man,  thy  slave! 
I  work  thy  will;  yet  must  I  have 
An  iron  armor  staunch  and  strong 
And  without  blemish,  lest  my  song 
Shall  change  to  crashing  thunder,  when 
I  seek  my  freedom  once  again. 


18 


JUDGE 


uQH,    he's   the   man,    without   a    doubt, 

But  do  the  thing  up  square; 
Let's  try  him  first — have  witnesses 
And  everything  air  fair. 
I've  always  found  it  the  best  way — 
Looks  reg'lar  like  and  straight; 
Judge  an'  jury — that's  the  style 
J  always  advocate." 

"No,  gentlemen  I'd  rather  not; 

Call  on  some  older  man 

To  act  as  Judge.     Well,  well,  all  right! 

I'll  do  the  best  I  can, 

Pick  out  your  jury — the  right  kind — 

When  that  is  done,  I  think 

Next  thing  in  order  is — all  hands 

Come  up,  with  me,  an'  drink." 

Judge  Lynch,  himself!  I  marked  him  well: 

I  marked  his  jury,  too; 

I  marked  the  drunken,  devlish  look 

That  said — "We'll  put  him  through;" 

I  marked  the  dull  and  sunken  eye— 

The  heavy,  brutal  jaw — 

The  face  in  which  a  demon  lay 

That  laughed  at  right  or  law, 


19 


"Where's   Buckskin   Bill?      Ah,    very   well; 

Please  tell  these  gentlemen 

About  this  case."     "Yeh  see,  I  knowed 

The  hoss  belonged  to  Ben, 

So,  when  this  feller  brought  him  yer 

And  tried  to  take  us  in 

By  sayin'  he  found  him  up  the  trail, 

Says  I,  'Boys,  that's  too  thin/ 

"So,  I  jest  covered  him  and  says— 

Now,  don't  yeh  move  a  hand! 

At  first  he  looked  surprised,  as  if 

He  didn't  understand 

Just  what  I  meant,  and  then  he  turned 

As  white  as  any  sheet — 

Bob  tied  his  hands — they  tell  us,  Judge, 

We  did  the  job  up  neat. 

"Then  Bob  an'  me,  an'  Monte  Jim; 

An'  two  three  other  men 

Left  camp,  to  see  if  we  could  find 

What  had  become  of  Ben; 

I  found — that  is — we  found  him,  Judge, 

Behind  an  ole  log,  dead 

An'  robbed.     That's  all  I  know.  His  wound  ? 

A  bullet  through  the  head. 

"No,  I  can't  say,  with  truth,  we  found 

Upon  him,  anything 

That  we  were  sartain  Ben  had  owned, 

Except  this  curious  ring. 

I  found  that  in  his  pocket,  yet 

He  tried  to  face  me  down — 

Said  I  didn't  find  it  there, 

But  took  it  from  my  own," 


20 


It  was  enough!     Nor  quiv'ring  lip, 

Nor  plain,  unvarying  tale, 

Nor  hot  and  fierce  denial, 

Nor  deep  oath  could  aught  avail. 

E'en  on  that  throng  a  silence  fell 

When,  with  rum  laden  breath 

And  thickened  tongue,  Judge  Lynch  pronounced 

The  dreadful  sentence — Death! 

Beneath  a  spreading  live-oak  tree 

The  fettered  victim  stands: 

The  tight  drawn  cords  cut  deep  his  wrists, 

Purpling  his  helpless  hands; 

While  pallid  face  and  staring  eye, 

And  deeply  heaving  chest, 

From  which  the  breath  comes  hot  and  quick, 

His  agony  attest. 

With  savage  haste,  his  tawny  beard 

They  raise,  and  draw  the  rope 

Close — close  about  his  swelling  throat, 

But  still  he  clings  to  hope, 

And  with  the  brutal,  drunken  throng, 

He  pleads  for  brief  delay — 

For  one  short  month — they  laugh — a  week — 

'Tis  useless.     Not  a  day! 

Now  wild  despair  sweeps  o'er  his  soul; 
His  passion  bursts  all  bounds, 
And  blazing  wrath  burns  in  his  eyes; 
"Ye  fiendish,  hell-born  hounds! 
Why  will  ye  murder  me  like  this! 
Why  do  this  hellish  deed  ? 
Oh,  God!  hast  thou  forsaken  me 
In  this,  my  hour  of  need  ?" 


21  * 


"Oh,  men! — if  ye  be  men— I  beg 

One  short  hour  more  of  life, 

To  write — to  — to  my  little  boy — 

And  to — and  to — my  wife. 

Not  yet!     Oh,  God!     a  moment  more 

To  utter  one  short  prayer " 

A  rush !   a  yell !   the  hapless  wretch 
Swings  struggling  in  the  air. 

That's  all.     Oh,  stop!    one  incident 

I  had  forgotten  quite; 

An  officer  arrested,  in 

That  very  camp,  that  night 

The  real  murd'rer.     Strange,  you  say? 

Yes,  sir — but,  stranger  still — 

(I  fear  you'll  not  believe  me — ) 

'Twas  the  witness,  Buckskin  Bill. 


2.) 
6 


REMARKS  0N  SPRING. 


'Tis  depressing  to  observe  that  this  season  doesn't  bring 

Forth  the  usual  quantity  of  poetry  on  spring. 

Thus  far  but  forty  poets  have  tuned  their  lyres  to  sing 

Of  bees  and  flowers  and  buttercups  and  birds  upon  the  wing. 

I  said  but  forty;  well,  perhaps  it  will  not  do  to  cling 

Too  firmly  to  that  statement — I  don't  read  everything 

You  know,  and  so  there  miglit  be  more  who  have  essayed  to  sling 

Poetic  ink  upon  this  theme.     I  think  Pll  try,  by  jing- 

O!   Here  I  go,  then — clear  the  track  and  let  me  have  full  swing! 

ril  write  a  poem,  too,  and  every  line  shall  end  with  ing. 

The  Spring— ahem !    The  Spring  has  come— the  soft  and  gentle  Spring, 

(Original  and  good  so  far)  the  groves  with  music  ring, 

(That's  good  again)  the  honey  bee  with  sharp  and  sudden  ping 

Shoots  by  the  ear  (see  that  new  word  I've  added  to  the  Eng- 

Glish  tongue?)  and  now  in  leafy  groves  the  feathered  warblers  sing, 

(Originality  like  that  is  simply  a-ma-sir?^) 

And  blooming  flowers  their  odors  sweet  upon  the  breezes  fling. 

The  country  girls,  from  sunshine  bright,  protected  by  their  ging- 

Ham  bonnets,  wander  o'er  the  fields,  nor  heed  the  smart  and   sting 

Of  nettles  on  their  bare,  brown  feet;  and,  happy  as  a  king 

The  farmer  boy  sings  loud  and  clear,  "Te  rol  de  dol  dol  ding." 

That  lets  me  out,  because,  you  see,  I  find  I  cannot  wring 

From  my  tired  brain  another  rhyme.     End  of  my  "pome"  on  Spring. 


23 


H0RSE'S   PR0TEST. 

pound-master,  stop !  There's  some  mistake, 

I'm  not  the  horse  that  you're  to  take; 
What  if  I  am  out  in  this  lane  ? 
My  master  '11  take  me  in  again 
And  shelter  me  and  feed  me  too, 
Just  as  he  always  used  to  do. 

A  weary  week  have  I  stayed  here, 

In  this  bare  lane,  because  'tis  near 

My  own  old  pasture;  pinched  with  cold, 

Hunger  and  thirst,  lame,  blind  and  old, 

I've  kept  my  post,  and  hoped,  though  late 

To  get  once  more  inside  the  gate. 

I'm  sure  my  master  must  be  ill, 
He  could  not,  of  his  own  free  will, 
Permit  me  thus  to  starve  and  die 
Here  on  the  common.     No  sir,  I 
Will  not  believe  he  bade  you  come 
And  take  me  from  my  own  good  home. 

He'll  care  for  me — I  have  no  fears — 
I've  toiled  for  him  for  twenty  years; 
I've  served  him  faithfully  and  true, 
And  done  all  that  a  horse  could  do; 
I've  toiled  for  him,  his  child,  his  wife, 
And  once,  at  least,  I  saved  his  life. 

'Twas  years  ago — yon  river's  flood, 
Kose  wild  and  high;  my  master  stood 
Just  by  the  bridge  and  watched  the  tide 
Swell,  till  it  dashed  against  the  side 
Of  the  huge  beams.     As  one  spell-bound 
He  gazed — nor  heard  the  dreadful  sound 


24 


Of  waters  wild,  tearing  the  ridge 

Of  earth,  that  reached  out  to  the  bridge. 

Twasgone!    Between  him  and  the  shore, 

The  waters,  with  appalling  roar, 

Rushed  fierce  and  deep.     Ah!  can  none  save 

My  master  from  a  wat'ry  grave? 

He  calls  to  me!     "  Come  Tom,  come  here! 
Come  here  good  Tom  " — without  a  fear 
I  plunged  into  the  waters  black — 
Swam  to  the  bridge;— upon  my  back 
I  brought  him  safely  to  the  shore, 

Well  pleased  to  have  him  there  once  more. 

***** 

Alas!  poor,  trusting,  helpless  slave, 
Your  faith  is  vain;  there's  naught  can  save 
Your  poor,  worn  frame,  now  that  'tis  old 
And  cannot  earn  its  master  gold; — 
Accept  your  doom  as  best  you  can; 
Learn  what  is  gratitude — in  man. 


25 


JILTED  FRAIDEN. 


sits  all  day,  and  dreams  and  sighs; 
Her  nose  is  red  and  so  are  her  eyes; 
She  won't  dress  up  nor  comb  her  hair, 
And  how  she  looks  she  doesn't  care. 

She  snaps  and  snarls  at  every  one, 
And  says,  "Iwishyouwouldletmealone." 
"  Sasses,"  her  father  and  scolds  her  ma, 
And  sets  at  defiance  all  household  law. 

She  smiles  at  none,  but  frowns  on  all; 
Keeps  out  of  the  parlor  when  visitors  call, 
Takes  no  interest  in  ribbon  or  curl, 
And  acts  just  like  —  a  jilted  girl. 


BWIGHT'S  bITTLE 


3t  a  soiree,  the  other  night, 

I  met  a  jolly  friend  named  Dwight, 
Just  launched  on  matrimony's  sea, 
And  full  of  pranks  as  he  could  be. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,   "  d'ye  want  some  fun  ? 
Of  course  you  do — you're  just  the  one;  " 
And  his  eyes  twinkled  as  he  spoke, 
And  thus  explained  his  little  joke. 

"  My  plan  is  this,"  said  he;  "  When  all 
Are  leaving,  they'll  crowd  through  this  hall 
Mixed  up  together;  then  the  light 
Well  have  turned  down  as  dark  as  night. 

"  Then,  to  complete  our  little  game, 
Kiss  quick  your  wife — I'll  do  the  same." 
"Indeed!"  said  I.     "I  mean,"  said  he, 
"  That  I'll  kiss  my  wife;  don't  you  see  ?' 

"  Of  course,  they'll  both  be  in  a  rage — 
But  won't  suspect  us.     I'll  engage  " 
Said  he,  "  to  tell — you  needn't  doubt  it — 
All  that  my  wife  may  say  about  it. 

"  You  do  the  same;  and  when  we  meet 
Again,  it  will  be  quite  a  treat 
For  each  of  us."     I  said  "  All  right;  " 
But  didn't  see  it  in  just  that  light. 

For  I  had  seen  more  years  than  he — 
The  honeymoon  had  passed  with  me 
A  long  time  since.     I  didn't  know 
Exactly  what  my  wife  would  do. 


The  whole  came  off  as  he  had  planned; 
The  lights  went  out  when  all  were  jammed 
Together  in  the  narrow  hall, 
But  /kissed  my  wife  not  at  all. 

We  met  next  day.     Said  I,  "  Well,  Dwight, 
What  of  your  little  game  last  night; 
Did  you  kiss  your  wife  as  you  said  you'd  do  ?  " 
"  Oh,  yes,"  said  he,  "  and  hugged  her,  too." 

"Good!  Good!"  sai'd  I;  since  then,  no  doubt, 
You've  laughed  until  you're  quite  laughed  out 
At  her  indignant  tears.     But  say — 
What  makes  your  face  so  long,  to-day?" 

"  Up  late,  last  night  ?"     "Oh,  yes,  1  see- 
But,  Mrs.  Dwight?"     "Ah— yes,"  said  he; 
"  Exactly — well — she  acts  absurd. 
In  fact  she  didn't  say  a  word !" 


B00MED. 


OOOD  morning,  jailor;  tliank  you,  sir, 

I  do  not  care  to  eat, 
But  will  drink  the  cup  of  coffee — 

Won't  you  find  yourself  a  seat — ? 
I  want  to  say  a  word  to  you 

Before — before  I  go, 
And  thank  you  for  your  kindness 

More  valued  than  you  know. 

What  means  the  sound  of  hammers, 

That  I've  heard  since  break  of  day  ? 

What  are  they  building  ?  oh,  my  God! 
You  turn  your  head  away; 

I  understand,  you  need  not  speak, 
The  ''building"  is  for  me  ! 

How  did  I  rest  ?    My  sleep,  last  night, 

Was  sweet  as  sleep  could  be 
And  filled  with  dreams.     I  dreamed  of  home — 

A  happy,  peaceful  dream, 
Unmixed  with  present  horrors  ; 

An  angel,  it  would  seem, 
In  pity  watched  my  last  repose  ; 

I  woke — and,  like  a  knife, 
Came  quick  and  keen  the  piercing  thought — 

'Tis  my  last  day  of  life  ! 

It  cannot  be  !    'tis  still  a  dream  ! 

Must  I,  some  minutes  hence 
See  this  bright  world  in  blackness  fade  ? 

Blackness  eternal,  dense  ? 
And  will  the  kindly  sun  still  send, 

To  this  lone  cell  his  ray, 
And  cheer  some  other  hapless  wretch, 

When  I — am  gone — away  ? 


29 


And  when  I'm  laid  deep  in  the  earth, 

Then,  will  a  flood  of  light 
Pour  softly  down  from  the  old  moon 

As  it  poured  down  last  night  ? 
And  will  the  shrieking  railway  trains 

That  marked  the  hours  for  me, 
Still  roar  and  rumble  as  before, 

When  I,  no  more  shall  be  ? 
And  you — my  only  friend — will  you 

Pursue  your  daily  round 
To-morrow  as  to-day,  and  I — 

And  I — deep  in  the  ground  ? 

I  know  I  do  not  jear  to  die  ; 

I  never  yet  knew  fear — ; 
But,  oh!  life  seems  so  wondrous  sweet 

As  death  is  drawing  near. 
My  God!  My  God!    am  /  the  man 

That  yon  throng  conies  to  see 
This  sweet,  glad  morn  ?     I  must  be  mad  ! 

It  cannot  !  cannot  be  ! 

***** 

Good-bye,  kind  friend — bolt  hard  the  door, 

Let  no  man  come  anigh  ; 
Leave  me  alone — alone  with  God— 

It  is  my  time  to  die  ! 


30 


W0MEN. 

Written  previous  to  a    "Local  Option"   election, 


'Tis  loudly  said  on  every  side 
(Though  by  a  few,  feebly  denied) 
That  if  we  close  each  whisky  mill 
The  men  will  keep  on  drinking  still; 
Not   only   that   they'll  drink,    but   more 
And  of  frier  than  they  did  before; 
That  they,  like  children  who  still  cry 
Loudest  for  that  which  you  deny, 
Will  thirst  for  what  they  cannot  get 
With  ease,  and  drink  still  deeper  yet. 
The  argument  is  this,  I  think: 
With  two  saloons  they  take  one  drink, 
With  only  one  they  nip  it  twice, 
With  none  at  all  they  sip  it  thrice, 
And  if  each  house  was  a  saloon, 
All  drinking  would  be  ended  soon. 

But,  ah!  worse  still!  on  every  hand 
'Tis  said,  the  women  of  our  land, 
Rich,  cultured  ladies — whisper  now — 
Before  the  shrine  of  Bacchus  bow. 
If  this  be  true,  is  it  because 
They  are  forbid  by  social  laws 
From  going  to  some  dram-shop  nigh 
Instead  of  tippling  on  the  sly  ? 
If  thus  the  rule  affects  the  men 
Why  may  it  not  the  women,  then  ? 
What  shall  be  done?  alas!  alas! 
That  things  have  come  to  such  a  pass ! 
They  must  be  saved,  at  any  cost! 
For,  if  they  fall  the  race  is  lost; 
Who'll  tell  us  how  to  save  them,  then, 


31 


And  make  them  temperate — like  the  men  ? 
Hah!  hold  your  breath!  List  to  ray  plan, 
We'll  save  them  yet — as  we  save  man. 
Bum-mills  for  wives!  that's  the  idea  ! 
Also  for  maidens;  don't  you  see 
How  nice  'twill  work  ?     They  boldly  go 
And  take  a  nip  like  Dick  or  Joe — 
They  laugh  and  chat  between  the  sips — 
Lay  down  their  money — wipe  their  lips — 
Then  walk  as  boldly  out  again, 
Saved  from  temptation  —like  the  men. 

I  hope  should  he  approve  this  plan — 
That  some  consistent  "  License  "  man 
Will  urge  his  daughter  or  his  wife 
To  try  the  scheme — to  give  her  life 
To  this  reform  (?) — this  glorious  boon 
To  woman — the  female  saloon. 
Of  course,  'twere  folly  to  expect 
She'd  bring  the  massive  intellect 
To  bear,  that  her  superior,  man 
Puts  to  this  work;  yet  still  she  can 
But  do  her  best— the  field  is  wide, 
There's  room  for  her  on  every  side — 
For,  if  to  save,  of  men  a  score, 
Takes  one  saloon,  as  many  more 
Will  be  required  for  women,  when 
They,  too,  are  saved — just  like  the  men. 


32 


I^AIN    IN    gALIF0RNIA. 

Portentous  and  gloomy  the  chilly  east  wind 
Creeps  over  the  land,  leaving  darkness  behind 
And  omens  of  storm.     In  the  threatening  air 
The  frowning  rain  god  doth  his  presence  declare. 

The  weird  notes  of  wild  geese  from  out  the  dark  sky, 
Fall  clanging  to  earth  as  they  southwardly  fly; 
And  the  fact'ry's  black  smoke  from  its  tall  chimney's  crest 
Rolls  heavily  downward  and  drifts  to  the  west. 

Enroofed  are  the  valleys  with  cold,  leaden  gray, 
Upheld  by  brown  mountains  whose  heads  thrust  their  way 
Up  through  the  dark  folds.     Over  forest  and  plain 
Broods  a  deep,  solemn  hush,  boding  rain,  blessed  rain. 

Now,  onHhe  wind  that  more  stormily  blows 

Slant  down  the  thick  drops.     From  Sierra's  deep  snows 

And  bold,  rocky  battlements  down  to  the  sea, 

The  storm  king  holds  revel,  wild,  joyous  and  free. 

Daylight  dies  out;  a  deep  sullen  roar 

Fills  the  night  as  when  waves  beat  a  lone,  rocky  shore. 

Day  succeeds  day,  moons  wax  and  wane, 

Yet  ever  drifts  down  the  monotonous  rain. 

The  rill  is  a  torrent — the  plain  is  a  lake, 
The  river,  a  sea,  whose  yellow  waves  break 
Over  fields,  over  fences,  o'er  bridges,  and  trees, 
Relentlessly  bearing  them  down  to  the  seas. 

Yet  thankful  we  greet  thee,  O,  sweet,  silv'ry  rain, 
For  thy  floods  shall  recede,  and  o'er  the  wide  plain 
In  all  their  green  glory  tall  harvests  shall  stand, 
And  plenty  shall  smile  on  our  thrice  favored  land, 


33 


YiRTueus  BARKEEPER. 


Ah  !  Mr.  Jones,  how  do  you  do  !  nice,  cool,  breezy  day; 

Glad   to   see  you  !      Just    arrived  ?      Straight   whisky  did  you  say  V 

There  you  are  sir,  ain't  that  prime  ?     I  call  it  the  clear  quill — 

Pure  corn  juice — just  the  best  a  white  man  can  distill. 

That's  the  kind  of  liquor,  sir,  that  every  man  should  keep; 

They  ought  to  make  a  law,  a  law ,  sir,  that  would  sweep 

These  dirty  rot-gut  holes  away,  with  all  their  pizen  stuff; 

They  make  the  drunkards,  Mr.  Jones;  you  know  that  well  enough. 

Pure  liquor  hurts  no  man,  I  say,  (and  that's  the  kind  I  buy) 
If  used— as  by  yourself — with  sense;  and,  sir,  I  always  try 
To  keep  a  man  from  drinking,  when  I  see  he  doesn't  know 
Just  when  he's  full  or  cannot  tell  how  far  he  ought  to  go. 


You  know  Dick  Snell  ?  of  course  you  do;  well,  Dick,  this  afternoon 

Was  pretty  full,  and,  with  a  friend,  he  came  to  my  saloon 

And  called  for  drinks — laid  down  his   coin — says   I,   Dick    Snell,    it's    clear 

You've  had  enough,  so  not  a  drop  of  whisky  you'll  get  here. 

Well,  he  was  mad,  you  bet  your  life  !  told  me  I  put  on  airs — 

Said  he  had  spent  more  dollars  here  than  both  of  us  had  hairs— 

And  that  was  true;  but  then  you  see  'twas  when  he  owned  a  farm 

And  dropped  in  four  or   five   times   a   day,    which   did    the  man   no   harm. 

But  ever  since  old  Copp  foreclosed  that  mortgage  on  his  place 
He's  drank  too  much  for  any  man — he  shows  it  in  his  face — 
And  since  his  wife  died  he's  worse  yet,  he's  drunk  near  half  his  time; 
And  yet  there's  men  will  give  him  drink  long  as  he  has  a  dime. 

But  Dick's  about  played  out  I  guess;  that  dive  across  the  way, 
Will  use  a  man  up  in  three  months,  and  he's  there  every  day, 
And  so — he's  gone  !  What  did  he  say  ?  Take  warning  by  Dick  Snell  V 
That  Copp  had  got  a  mortgage  placed  upon  his  farm  as  well  ? 


34 

0UR    RlNQTY-RlNTH    0NNIVERSARY. 

HEAD  AT  SAN  LORENZO  GROVE,  JULY  4TH,  1875. 


When  from  the  past  night's  starry  gloom, 

Our  glad  land  turned  toward  the  sun, 
From  green  New  England's  eastern  cliffs 

Burst  clang  of  bell  and  boom  of  gun; 
And  westward,  with  the  speed  of  light, 

A  thousand  measured  miles  an  hour, 
Pursuing  close  the  fleeing  night, 

The  sound-wave  sweeps  with  swelling  power. 

It  climbs  New  Hampshire's  granite  hills 

And  falls  on  cities  by  the  sea, 
Whose  steeples  reel  with  music  sweet, 

Proclaiming  Freedom's  Jubilee. 

In  harbors  calm,  grim  ships  of  war 

Burst  into  thund'rous  smoke  and  flame, 
And  bright  flags  flash  from  masts  and  spars, 

And  wild  hurrahs,  in  glad  acclaim, 
Yet  swell  the  ever  swelling  tone 

Until  the  diapason  deep, 
Still  rolling  westward  with  the  sun 

Across  the  continent  doth  sweep; 
And  in  reverberations  grand, 

Upon  this  distant  western  shore, 
Dies  in  sweet  echoes;  lost  amid 

Pacific's  ceaseless  solemn  roar. 

Why  throbs  the  air  with  music  sweet? 

Why  wave  a  million  flags  on  high  '? 
Why  shakes  the  earth  with  cannon's  roar  ? 

Why  clang  sweet  bells  against  the  sky  ? 
Whence  this  deep,  universal  joy 

That  thrills  the  land  from  sea  to  sea  ? 
Lo  !  on  this  glorious  day  was  born 

The  mighty  empire  of  the  free. 


Scarce  an  hundred  years  of  life,  yet  our  nation  stands  to-day 
A  peer  among  the  mighty— o'er  a  Continent  its  sway; 
A  cluster  of  young  empires,  wrapped  within  the  silken  fold 
Of  a  single  starry  banner — a  grand,  united  whole  ! 

A  government  for  men,  built  to  reach  the  shores  of  time; 
A  single,  mighty  nation,  where  mankind  from  every  clime 
May  find  a  peaceful  haven;  where,  before  the  law,  a  man 
Is  but  a  man,  regardless  of  religion,  race  or  clan. 

'Tis  not  a  league  of  jarring  States,  by  parchment  held  alone, 

Nor  by  the  sword— no  conqueror— no  monarch   on  his  throne 

Holds  us  with  iron  grasp,  but  the  Freemen  of  the  land 

Have  sworn,  deep  in  their  inmost  hearts,  this  government  shall  stand. 

God  bless  thee,  noble  nation,  born  of  war,  amid  the  fears 
And  hopes  of  our  forefathers,  thou  hast  lived  an  hundred  years  ! 
And  of  strife  art  born  again,  but,  behold  !  the  tempest's  shock 
Hath  but  settled  thy  foundations  more  securely  on  the  rock  ! 

The  rock  of  human  Liberty — of  justice  to  all  men — 
'Neath  whose  shadow  the  down-trodden  shall  smile  with  hope  again; 
A  rock  whose  broad  foundations  were  laid  deep  in  the  earth 
Coeval  with  the  period  when  Liberty  had  birth. 

Then  come  to  us  from  distant  lands  beyond  the  convex  sea; 

Let  all  the  earth  aid  us  to  build  this  kingdom  of  the  free; 

Right  welcome  all  who  truly  say — we  care  not  whence  they  come — 

"  I  join  my  destiny  with  thine,  my  own  adopted  home." 

/ 

And  we  will  build  a  nation,  that,  despite  the  scoffs  and  jeers 
Of  hereditary  rulers,  shall  live  a  thousand  years; 
Whose  pillars  shall  be  knowledge,  where  education's  light 
Shall  banish  superstition  as  the  sun  dispels  the  night. 


Let,  then,  this  truth  sink  deeply — that  nation  must  be  free 
Whose  sons  are  free  from  ignorance — none  other  so  can  be; 
And  we  hold  as  freedom's  foe,  the  fanatic,  knave  or  fool 
Who  dares  to  raise  a  hand  against  our  hope — the  common  school. 

For  knowledge,  like  the  sunshine  of  a  brilliant  summer  day; 
Shall  expose  the  snares  and  pitfalls  that  beset  the  nation's  way 
To  a  permanence  and  grandeur  such  as  earth  has  never  known  — 
A  grandeur  born  of  Truth  and  Eight— of  Truth  and  Eight  alone. 

Our  ship  of  State  has  shunned  the  rocks,  her  voyage  is  begun; 

Spread  now  her  snowy  canvas  and  fire  her  parting  gun, 

Fling  out  her  starry  ensign  to  the  music-laden  breeze 

And  pray  that  God  may  keep  her  course  o'er  sparkling,  sunlit  seas. 


37 


0PTI0N   JINGLES, 

Written  just  previous  to  a,  very  warm  election. 


Local  Option — 

Its  adoption 

Or  rejection 

By  election 
On  the  'leventh  of  July, 

Is  the  question 

Our  digestion 

And  our  drinking 

Too,  I'm  thinking 
Is  much  agitated  by. 

Shall  we  try  it 

Or  deny  it  ? 

If  we  do  it, 

We  shall  rue  it. 
That  is  what  some  people  say, 

But  I  reckon 

That  a  check  on 

Whiskey  selling, 

Will  be  telling 
In  our  favor.     So,  that  day, 

If  we're  lucky, 

True  and  plucky 

We  propose  to 
Beat  the  "noes  "  to  smithereens. 


38 


FIRE. 


Wrapped  in  the  cool,  calm,  solemn  night,  the  city  slept; 
The  stars,  deep  in  the  midnight  sky,  their  vigils  kept; 
Long,  twinkling  rows  of  gaslights  gleamed  adown  each  street, 
Deserted  now,  though  thronged  but  late  with  hurrying  feet. 
The  still,  black  waters  of  the  bay,  with  gliding  swell, 
Searched  'neath  the  piers;  in  starlight  dim  ships  rose  and  fell. 
The  air  moved  not;  nor  sea  nor  shore  gave  forth  a  sound: 
Sleep  held  her  leaden  sway;  o'er  all  was  peace  profound. 

Hark  !  from  yon  belfry's  spectral  height 
A  thrilling  tone  awakes  the  night: 
A  solemn,  heavy,  clanging  peal 
That  makes  the  lofty  steeple  reel : 
'Tis  silent  now  !  Yet  list !  Once  more 
It  comes,  e'en  deeper  than  before, 
And  wilder,  louder,  faster,  higher, 
Awake  !  'tis  screaming,  fire  !  fire  ! 

Now,  from  each  window,  blanched  with  fright 

White  faces  peer  into  the  night; 

And  now  the  streets  are  thronged  again 

With  hot,  excited  rushing  men; 

And  now,  with  shout  and  'larming  cry, 

The  smoking  engine  thunders  by. 

Lo  !  from  yon  pile  in  volumes  vast 
Tinged  with  a  lurid  red,  rolls  fast 
A  huge,  black  cloud,  that  climbs  the  sky, 
In  grand,  slow,  sullen  majesty. 


39 


Behold  !  the  flames  assert  their  sway, 
Transforming  darkness  into  day. 
Look  now  !  with  deep,  appalling  roar 
They  wildly  leap  from  floor  to  floor, 
Enwrapping,  in  their  fierce,  white  gleam 
Pilaster,  column,  roof  and  beam, 
Till  the  vast  structure  reels  and  glows, 
Beneath  the  fiery  dragon's   blows, 
Then  falls  and  sinks,  a  smouldering  pile, 
And  ruin  laughs  in  glee  the  while. 


The  city,  'neath  the  solemn  night,  is  wrapped  in  sleep. 
The  stars,  deep  in  the  midnight  vault  their  vigils  keep; 
The  air  moves  not;  nor  sea  nor  shore  gives  forth  a  sound; 
Sleep  holds  her  leaden  sway;  o'er  all  is  peace  profound. 


40 


8HANGED   HER    PRlND. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  CORRESPONDENCE  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY. 

DEAR  BELLE  : — I  went  to  churcli  last  night 
And  saw  your  friend,  why  he's  a.  fright ; 
At  least  /  think  so ;  what  is  there  pray 
About  his  looks  that  made  you  say 
That  I'd  admire  him.     Goodness  me  ! 
He's  homely,  Belle,  as  he  can  be, 
Monstrous  nose,  retreating  forehead 
And  goggle  eyes;  I  think  he's  horrid. 

*  *     *    I've  seen  that  Mr.  Knox  again — 
Your  friend,  I  mean,  that  homely  man 

Of  whom  I  wrote — and  I  declare 
I  must  admit  he  has  an  air 
About  him,  that  one  must  admire. 
But,  Belle,  I  think  I  soon  shall  tire 
Of  his  rude  manners;  why  the  man 
Stared  till  I  had  to  use  my  fan. 

*  *     *     I  went  last  night  to  the  soiree, 
And  who,  think  you,  chanced  there  to  be? 
Why,  Charley  Knox  !  we  stayed  till  four — 
I  danced  with  him  six  times — or  more, 
And  he  has  asked  me — don't  you  tell — 

To  go  with  him  next  time;  now,  Belle, 
I'm  not  in  love.     You'll  laugh  I  know  — 
But  still  I  say  he's  not  my  beau. 

*  *     *     O,  Belle  !  O,  Belle  !  what  do  you  think 
Has  happened.     I  can't  sleep  a  wink 

Until  I  ve  told  my  dearest  friend; 
O,  Belle  !  my  girlhood's  at  an  end. 
That  Charley  Knox  !  O,  dear,  O,  my, 
I  don't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry — 
I  never  yet  did  feel  so  queer — 
Just  think  !  I  am  enyayed  !  my  dear. 


.ABBATH    3N    THE    80UNTRY. 


The  hazy  sunshine  softly  fills 

The  valleys,  bright  with  yellow  grain, 
And  glints  upon  the  bare,  brown  hills 

That  girt  the  landscape  like  a  chain. 

Untouched  the  nodding  harvest  stands; 

The  reaping  engine  is  at  rest; 
And  on  the  richly  burthened  lands 

No  lab'rer's  foot  to-day  is  prest. 

The  jaded  horse,  from  harness  free, 

Stands  dreaming  in  the  pasture  lone; 

The  gentle  cows  beneath  the  trees 

To  seek  their  grateful  shade  have  gone. 

Thickly  the  cones  of  fragrant  hay 

Bestud  the  close-shorn  meadow  land; 

Like  to  some  tented  camp  seem  they 

As,  ranged  in  rows  precise,  they  stand. 

Stretched  at  full  length  the  watch-dog  lies 
Asleep  within  the  porch's  shade; 

Impatient,  shakes  his  ears  at  flies 
That  oft  his  lazy  ease  invade. 

Within  the  tidy  farmhouse  door 

The  comely  housewife  sits  at  ease, 

Her  fingers  idly  turning  o'er 

The  Bible  resting  on  her  knees. 

Near  her  within  his  "old  arm  chair," 
His  snowy  shirt  by  coat  unhid, 

The  farmer  sits;  the  sultry  air 

Brings  nodding  sleep  to  him  unbid. 

No  jangling  bells  the  day  proclaim 

From  steeples  tall,  with  swelling  sound 

But  dreamy  quiet  holds  her  reign, 
And  over  all  is  peace  profound. 


42 

(3-UARD. 

A  CAMPAIGN  POEM. 

Once  more  come  to  the  front, 

Once  more  united  stand; 
Once  more  unfurl  the  battle-flag — 

The  conflict  is  at  hand. 
The  old,  old  battle,  fought 

So  oft  with  sword  and  pen 
In  years  agone,  still  ever  new, 

Calls  for  you  once  again. 

Ask  not  if  ye  shall  gain 

Or  lose  the  coming  fight; 

But  stand  as  true  as  tempered  steel 
For  principle  and  right. 

Let  the  half -hearted  fall— 

Urge  not  the  weak  to  stay — 

They  came  to  you  among  the  last, 
They're  first  to  go  away. 

For  spoils  they  sought  your  ranks, 
And  wove  therein  their  toils; 

They  leave  you  for  a  party  now 
Whose  principles  are— spoils. 

Stand  firm,  then,  we  adjure  you, 

In  the  name  of  those  dark  years 
When,  in  the  grand  old  party, 

Were  centred  all  the  fears 
And  hopes  of  the  Republic — 

Years  when,  with  bated  breath, 
Men  talked,  with  deep  emotion, 

Of  the  nation's  coming  death. 


43 


In  the  sacred    name   of   Freedom — 

In  the  name  of  those  true  men 
Who  fill  a  million  lonely  graves, 

In  valley,  grove  and  glen, 
Who  yielded  up  their  lives 

That  your  principles  might  live, 
Stand  firm;  nor  to  the  wily  foe 

A  single  hair's  breadth  give. 

Stand  firm  !     Do  ye  forget 

That  the  battle  once  again 
Is  with  those  who  starved  your  kindred 

In  a  Eebel  prison  pen  ? 
With  those  same  men,  unchanged  in  heart, 

Who  once  have  dared  to  drag 
Down  into  slav'ry's  blood-stained  mire, 

Our  country's  sacred  flag  ? 

Ye  have  a  noble  heritage; 

A  martyr'd  Lincoln's  name 
Sheds  o'er  your  past  its  splendor; 

In  a  lofty  niche  of  fame 
The  future  shall  record  your  deeds, 

If,  in  each  earnest  fight, 
Ye  shall,  as  in  the  old  dark  days, 

Stand  firm  for  truth  and  right. 


44 


10  STEPHEN  AND  EMILY. 

READ    AT    THE    CELEBRATION    OF    THE    SILVER    WEDDING    OF    JUDGE    AND    MRS.   STEPHEN    «. 

NYE,  SAN    LEANDRO,    CAL. 


Pow,  Stephen  and  Em'ly,  stand  up  before  us 

And  let  us—your  friends — commend  you  in  chorus 
As  a  fair  sort  of  husband  and  an  excellent  wife 
Who  together  have  reached  a  great  land  mark  in  life. 

Twenty-five  summers  (and  winters)  ago 

The  journey  commenced,  and,  as  we  all  know, 

It  has  progressed  in  peace  'mid  hopes  and  'mid  fears, 

Attended  with  joys  not  unmingled  with  tears. 

And  so  the  world  says — and  we  say  as  well — 

'Twas  a  good  thing  that  these  two  together  should  dwell; 

But,  Em'ly,  we  know,  at  least  do  not  doubt 

That  Stephen  has  quirks  none  but  you  have  found  out. 

Quite  likely  this  cheerful  and  excellent  man 

Has  oft  tried  your  patience  as  he  only  can; 

And  the  whimsical  moods  of  the  contrary  bear 

Have  been  such  they've  almost  compelled  you  to despair. 

But  you've  this  to  console  you,  the  success  that  you've  had, 
Considering  material,  has  not  been  so  bad; 
You've  worked  him  all  over  and  polished  him  down 
Till,  really,  he's  not  the  worst  fellow  in  town. 

And  no  doubt,  hed  say — if  we'd  give  him  a  chance — 
That,  at  times,  lies  been  led  a  quite  lively  dance; 
But  he  shant  have  the  privilege  to  talk  if  he  would, 
For  we're  all  well  aware  that  'twas  done  for  his  good. 

And  so,  though  the  foibles  of  each  are  now  plain, 
If  life's  journey  had  to  be  traveled  again 
You'd  start  out  together — in  your  hearts  you  both  know 
You  would  do  as  you  did  twenty -five  years  ago. 


•in 


TARINGS. 


Oh,  that  my  soul  were  lifted  up, 

To  sweep  the  poet's  lyre 
Till  it  should  thrill  with  melody. 

Oh,  for  a  pen  of  fire 
With  which  to  write,  in  "  words  that  burn," 

A  lofty,  thrilling  song, 
Whose  numbers  should  enchant  mankind 

And  sway  each  wav'ring  throng. 

Oh,  fora  voice  whose  clarion  tones 

Should  fill  the  throbbing  air, 
And  sweep  across  the  mountain  chains 

And  o'er  the  valleys  fair; 
A  voice  whose  startling  notes  should  strike 

The  listener  dumb  with  dread, 
And  stir  each  sluggish  soul  to  life 

And  wake  the  silent  dead. 

Were  such  a  voice  vouchsafed  to  me, 

And  such  a  thrilling  pen, 
As  the  wild  tempest  sways  the  trees, 

I'd  sway  the  souls  of  men. 
I'd  tell  them,  as  with  eager  looks 

They  gazed,  (O  glorious  thought,) 
I'd  tell  them  they  should  do — should  do— 

I'm  blessed,  if  I  know  what. 


